Life, the Universe and Everything
by Eilla
Summary: Just a little Terry half-vignette. Co-starring: Matt. Title is copyrighted to Douglass Adams.


~~~***~~~   
  
He was beyond exhausted.   
  
Weariness soaked his bones, drowsiness pulled at his eyelids, fatigue ran through his brain.   
  
Was it possible to be too tired to fall asleep?   
  
'Yes', Terry answered himself. He was ready to get up and beat his head against the wall until he   
knocked himself unconscious.   
  
Shifting himself on his side, the clock read 4:16 AM. After a night's work of chasing and re-   
capturing Inque, he had to get up in a little over an hour and go to school. School that had first   
period gym with Nelson, contaminated water fountains, a vindictive little ex-girlfriend within a 10-   
mile radius, and other such horrors.   
  
Too tired to swear at the awful thoughts he just had, Terry tried to think of something that would   
make him sleepy.   
  
'Counting sheep, reciting poetry, going over trig formulas...'   
  
Like when someone tells you not to think of the number four and you instantly do, he tried to re-   
visualize the night Melanie came over when she thought her family had been kidnapped by the   
Jokerz. *That* had been a *very* entertaining evening – she just crawled up on his bed and   
started kissing him, letting Terry envelop his arms around her lithe form that felt so soft...   
  
His trail of thought ended suddenly; he heard a noise, like a muted murmuring or – hiccupping?   
  
It was coming from Matt's room. Terry treaded out of his room and down the hall to his brother's.   
  
Slowly opening the door, he found the little boy crying in a tangled heap of sheets on one corner of   
his bed.   
  
"Matt?" he called softly.   
  
Matt turned sharply to the sound of Terry's voice. His face was blotchy and sticky from tears, his   
black hair was stuck up in every which direction. But that didn't hide the irritation at seeing who   
was talking to him. "Go away!" he said fiercely.   
  
A pang of something zipped through Terrance McGinnis's heart, but he ignored it. "Come on twip,   
what's wrong?"   
  
"Leave me alone!"   
  
'Okay', Terry thought, 'maybe it wasn't such a brilliant idea to call him a twip.' "Matt," he said,   
sitting next to him on the bed, "Whatever it is, I promise not to laugh. I don't like seeing you cry."   
  
Matt sniffed, and rubbed his sleeve across his nose. "You *promise*? I'll tell all your secrets to... to   
Dana, and pour syrup on your cell phone, and run your Mickey Mouse shorts up the flagpole-"   
  
"I promise."   
  
"I... I had a bad dream."   
  
He looked so guilty about the fact. "I'm surprised you didn't go wake mom up," said Terry.   
  
"She wouldn't care!" Matt punched a fist through the air. "I told her about it before and she said it   
was just a nightmare, that it wasn't real and I needed to be a big boy."   
  
'Well mom, that wasn't very nice,' Terry thought angrily, recalling when his mother had accused   
him of using drugs without even bothering to hear his side of the story. He had been so glad when   
his parents separated; his was 15 and could choose to live with his dad. But Matt had been only   
six, and the courts generally favored the mothers.   
  
Then again, maybe he was being too hard. She didn't have anyone to help pay child support   
anymore, and thus had to work overtime... but Terry's own paycheck was certainly hefty enough,   
why would she feel the need to work so much? Maybe...   
  
Matt was looking at him disapprovingly. "Sorry, I got lost in a chain of thought there. So, you've   
had this dream before? Want to tell me what it was about?"   
  
His younger brother shook his head vehemently.   
  
"I guess that's ok." An idea sprang forth in Terry's head; with a manner of kindness that siblings   
usually don't feel for each other until they don't have to live with each other any more. "Look, why   
don't you go wash your face and blow your nose, otherwise you'll feel too nasty to go back to   
sleep, and I'll have something for you when you get back, okay?"   
  
"What, like a present?"   
  
"Um... yeah."   
  
"What is it?!?"   
  
"Not until you take a trip to the bathroom."   
  
With energy only a young boy could have in the middle of the night, Matt flew out of the room,   
while Terry made his way to his mother's study.   
  
~~~***~~~   
  
"One of mom's super-sized double-chocolate chip cookies! Shway! You found where she hides   
them!" Matt grabbed the treat and started wolfing it down.   
  
"Don't be too loud, we don't want to wake her."   
  
"Mom could sleep through a tsunami."   
  
The change was amazing – he had gone from a miserable, sobbing sympathy case to a happy   
chappy noisemaker. Terry's eight year old brother was an interesting individual. When he wasn't   
being annoying.   
  
Eight.   
  
Bruce was only eight when he witnessed his parent's murder.   
  
Matt finished eating and settled contentedly under the covers.   
  
Was the old man ever like that? Was he just like Matt until that fateful night? Was he ever an   
annoyingly carefree kid? Did he ever wake up in the middle of the night, terrified by a nightmare?   
Did he crawl into his parent's bed to feel safe again? Did they also give him something nice to eat,   
or did they tell him a story, or did they sing him back to sleep? Who consoled him after his parents   
weren't there anymore?   
  
Terry shook his head. Thinking of Bruce Wayne as a sad little boy was freaking him out.   
  
"Okay Matt, feel any better? You think you can fall asleep and dream some good dreams now?"   
Terry tucked the sheets in a little closer.   
  
"Yeah." Matt sighed and closed his eyes. "Terry?"   
  
"Hmm?"   
  
"Why're you being so nice?"   
  
"I'm just in the mood, I guess."   
  
"You should be in the mood more often."   
  
Terry chuckled quietly. "Yeah, I guess working for Mr. Wayne does make me a little cranky."   
  
"What do you *do* for him, anyway?"   
  
"He likes to boss me around. Move things, fix things, cook him a strawberry soufflé. It makes him   
feel superior in his old age," lied Terry.   
  
Matt opened his eyes. "Why don't you get a normal job? You could work at the Chick-Filet-A like   
Jake's older brother does. He says the boss there is a push-over."   
  
Terry crossed his arms, "Yeah but Mr. Wayne pays better. Do you think we could have afforded   
your Playstation 7 if I worked at a Chick-Filet-A?"   
  
Matt seemed to ponder this.   
  
"Don't hurt your head trying to think too much. Go to sleep." He ruffled the hair on his little   
brother's head before getting up and leaving the room. Terry stayed outside the closed door until   
he heard the even breathing that indicated genuine sleeping.   
  
Terry slipped into his now chilly bed. Matt's question still lingered in his head; why *did* he   
continue being Batman?   
  
Neon store lights and the sound of the nightlife came through the window, and Terry tossed in his   
bed.   
  
He had once heard his mother talk about an old show called "Angel". It was about a vampire of the   
same name who felt so guilty and consumed by his past sins that the only way he felt he could   
redress himself to even be worthy of forgiveness was to incessantly lend help to the victims of his   
city, Los Angeles, to take down the criminals living there, and to protect the innocent.   
  
It was the first thing that came to mind when Bruce fired him, when the re-arrival of the Joker had   
thrown everything into chaos.   
  
Because the truth was, Terry had no idea.   
  
He knew that if every kid who had lost a parent became a vigilante, the world would be chock full   
of heroes. It wasn't just the loss of his father.   
  
It wasn't the surges of adrenaline that fueled him every night, or the living fantasy of being a hero,   
or the secret feeling of knowing that in a way, you're more important than the popular snobs going   
to school with you. Terry just – could *feel* the beckoning of the Gotham night.   
  
~Come and play~ it seemed to sing.   
  
Terry sat up and pounded his pillow, immediately flopping back down hard onto it. That was stupid.   
He was Batman because it was *fun*? People *died* doing what he did. Sometimes they were   
*tortured*. Would he still be smiling if he had to go though what Drake did?   
  
Terry froze for a second, and then pulled his covers closer around him. He wasn't cold; he just had   
a memory of his 13th birthday. He joined a gang. They had an interesting way of initiating   
members. He had come home with his head partly smashed open, cracked ribs, solidly bruised   
limbs, blood pouring from his ears and nose. Terry loved it; he thought he belonged to a force   
greater than him alone.   
  
Was that it? Was he part of something greater than himself? Was that what happened when you   
joined the superhero assemblage? Something totally unreal and mystical, even for a regular   
human, that made him fly through the gothic buildings searching for people to save and others to   
defeat because it sort of made sense and it made him feel so *alive*-   
  
Terry never got to finish his thought.   
  
He finally fell asleep.   
  
~~~***~~~   
  
The End 


End file.
